


A Simple Plant

by grepes, Idikehaine, JosephineStone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Herbology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grepes/pseuds/grepes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idikehaine/pseuds/Idikehaine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/pseuds/JosephineStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco loves Harry; Harry loves Draco; Neville loves plants and how even the flowers can heal things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Plant

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's/Artist's Notes:** Thanks, d, for working this into shape.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Draco was a light sleeper. Even after a twelve-hour shift at St Mungo’s, he was startled awake at the sound of Harry’s harsh breathing. Harry’s surprised expression told Draco that he had tried to sneak in quietly as not to wake Draco, but it was pointless. Judging by the amount of blood covering Harry’s clothes, he needed a Healer’s attention immediately.

"Sorry," Harry whispered, and Draco couldn’t be sure if it was for his sake or because he couldn’t speak any louder. Harry inched closer to the bed, and Draco got up to help him.

"You shouldn’t be here," Draco said, frustrated with him. "You should’ve gone straight to Mungo’s." He kept the most common potions on hand at home, but many potions they used every day at St Mungo’s were illegal outside of hospitals.

Harry tried to smile. "I knew your shift would be over."

Draco quickly checked Harry’s wounds, only to see that he was still bleeding. Someone had cast a few spells to keep him from bleeding out completely. "Weasley or Granger?" Draco asked, as he helped Harry slowly lower himself onto the bed.

"Ron," Harry responded.

Draco muttered to himself while he looked over Harry’s wounds. "He’s getting better." He Vanished Harry’s clothes to get them out of the way. He didn't feel guilty, as they were beyond repair anyway. "I’m going to have to stitch you."

Harry grimaced at the news. Draco ignored the look, grabbed a few potions—for pain, blood loss, and to help Harry sleep. He promptly got to work cleaning Harry up, before starting in on the more difficult spells.

He’d stitched up Harry many times by then. After the first time, Harry began to ask for Draco whenever he needed them again. Somehow, Harry had said, Draco made the spell not as painful. Everyone believed Harry, but Draco was convinced it was all in Harry’s head. Even so, Draco prided himself on having the smallest, most even stitches of all the Healers in his unit. It took a lot of concentration and small, delicate movements when performing the spell.

Eventually, Harry asked for Draco every time he came in. Then, when Draco wasn’t working, Harry began showing up at his home.

Draco could feel Harry’s stare as he worked on the gash in his side. "You shouldn’t keep doing this," Draco said. "It’s dangerous. You’re going to show up with something I can’t fix on my own, and then—"

"You’ll get me to St Mungo’s," Harry was just so sure of himself. Of course, Draco would do everything he could to make sure Harry was healed, but that didn’t mean he _could_ do it. The few wasted minutes could cost Harry his life.

Harry brushed the hair that fell across Draco’s face behind his ear, and Draco pulled back slightly never taking his eyes off Harry’s wounds. "Don’t," Draco said. "I’m working."

"You’re almost done," Harry reached for Draco’s cheek, again. "Come on. You know I’m fine. These weren’t even that bad."

Draco finished his last spell and summoned some clothes for Harry, who leaned in and tried to kiss him.

"Draco," Harry groaned pitifully when Draco dodged it.

The potions had already begun affecting Harry’s reflexes. His movements were less careful, as he wasn’t in as much pain. They were slower all the same, though. "The potions are kicking in," Draco said softly. Since Harry made no move to put on the clothes, Draco sent a spell at them to dress Harry themselves.

"Come on," Harry groaned. "You know I’m not doing this because of the potions. We've been over this," Harry murmured as an attempt at reconciliation of the mood. Of course, Draco knew that they’d had that conversation, but Draco didn’t answer. Too many times it happened just after Draco had healed him and that bothered him.

It was near three in the morning. He was tired and had another twelve-hour shift to work in the morning. He didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with Harry right then. He shook his head when Harry reached for him again, and made his way to the bedroom door to go sleep on the couch. Harry needed the bed more than he did.

Draco still didn’t quite trust that it wasn’t some sort of infatuation Harry might have for him. Mostly because Draco’d saved his life a few times. Sure, there were many Healers who’d saved Harry after he and Weasley risked their necks chasing down Dark Wizards for the Aurors, but he _requested_ Draco. He had only ever requested Draco.

"Wait," the despair in Harry’s voice stopped Draco at the door. "Fine, you win. Just . . . could you lie with me?"

Draco exhaled and turned around.

#

Harry had almost resigned himself to sleep. As Draco begrudgingly flopped down beside him, Harry’s lips strained to curve into an expression of . . . what, exactly, he didn’t know. Bliss? Content? His apparent contentment circulated in his veins, lulling him. He was giddy that Draco was such a sucker when he was tired. He knew Draco’d never dream of such dippy indulgences with his usual alert, befitting manner. But here they were nonetheless.

Harry wondered what Draco’s calculating mind was processing at this particular moment. This  
particular moment being them, in bed, together, which sounded infinitely more exciting than the actual event taking place.

An Auror could dream, though.

Draco was exhausted, Harry could tell. His soft sighs began to even out, and his flushed cheeks (from what, Harry contemplated) began to return to their undisturbed porcelain pallor. When Draco’s face was back to the peaceful tundra, Harry began to notice more about Draco’s face with each not-so-discreet glance. Moons the colour of a potion Harry took once were inscribed beneath Draco's eyes, serving as more evidence of the overwork.

Harry was worried, which seemed a bit hypocritical. Here he was, barging in on Draco's rest time, but somehow still concerned about his sleep. "Oh well," Harry thought. The feeling of Draco’s warmth snaking through the mattress to him was worth it, however selfish that was. The more Harry thought about the warmth, the more energy his eyelids required to stay up, and he had none of that energy. In turn, Harry shut them, turned to face Draco, and let his mind fall.

#

Draco slipped out of bed a few hours later without waking Harry.

After he showered to force himself awake, he glanced at sleeping Harry as he dressed for the day, all the while attempting to deny his staring. Scars marred Harry's skin—long and straight down his back, short and jagged across one arm, various sizes all over his abdomen, and his most famous one on his forehead.

His weariness made him feel numb. His instincts told him he needed to push Harry away. He was getting too close. He was already too close.

One of the good things about being a Healer was that it gave Draco little time to date, and he'd thought it would save him from this.

Yet, here he was too deep in _something_ that would never work.

When it came down to it, Harry would choose someone else over Draco just like he always had in the past. But, at the same time, Draco knew he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t push Harry away. He would give Harry want he wanted, until Harry didn’t want him anymore.

In the meantime, he’d bury himself in his work to hide from it all.

Being a Healer was easy work to get lost in. Even when his ward was quiet, there was plenty to do.

Every morning on his way to work, he stopped by Longbottom’s Shoppe to pick up ingredients for what he’d be working on that day. The easier potions were always kept on hand at St Mungo’s. The more complicated ones, though, Draco preferred to make himself. Longbottom was the only one Draco could trust to have everything he needed available at all times. Plus, it was obvious Longbottom loved his work. His plants were fuller, livelier and more potent than the average market seller’s.

Longbottom smiled as Draco entered. He was always chipper, even in the morning. Draco nodded a 'hello' as Longbottom grabbed Draco’s order. He looked around at the new flowers Neville was cross-breeding while he waited. Draco tried to appear awake and debated about getting some crossbreeds to bring home. They were beautiful. It had been a long time since he filled up the vase in the breakfast nook.

After he got his order, he forced himself out of the pleasant atmosphere and back on the way to St Mungo’s. The day moved by in a fog. All he could think about was getting home and into bed. Draco loved his work. He couldn’t imagine a better job for him, but he had spent too many days on without having a day off.

#

"Hiya," Neville said as Harry entered the shop. He looked rough and Neville went straight to his tea service where he always kept a bit of chocolate around. "Bad night?"

"If you consider getting sliced opened, and then being left to wake up alone, again—" Harry cut off as Neville gave him a confused look. "I meant by the Healer, not the person who sliced me open." Harry laughed, and then winced as he thought through what he’d just said. "I mean—"

"Still stalking Malfoy, then?" Neville asked, obviously catching on to what Harry was talking about. He handed Harry a piece of chocolate and took one for himself before he continued, "I take it he gave you some potion, and a rather strong one, considering how bloody talkative you still are," Neville chuckled lightly.

Harry blushed, but nodded. "I don’t think he expected me to be up and about this early, but I had to go in to work and write up the report of what happened last night, and then my accident report, and then . . ." He sighed. "They put me on leave . . . a, er. . . mandatory vacation."

Neville handed Harry another piece of chocolate.

"Can you believe that? I’m the best Auror they have! I never take sick days, even after a few injuries and—"

Neville tried not to let his thoughts show on his face, but he must have failed because Harry’s monologue had stopped abruptly, and Harry was looking at him expectantly. "What?" Harry asked, peering into Neville’s eyes.

"Well, do you think that might be _why_ they want you to take a vacation?" Neville ventured carefully. He never liked being the one that had to force his friends to see the truth; Luna was better at it. Neville always felt guilty, like he’d forced them to face things they weren’t ready for yet. "Haven't you been getting injured more often lately?"

Even though he inquired as a courtesy, Neville already knew the answer to that. It was in the papers. And even if it hadn’t been, Neville had figured out a long while before that something was going on between Harry and Malfoy. He saw Malfoy every morning. On days when Harry had spent the night with Malfoy, Neville could tell. Malfoy was more touchy, easily offended, and obviously sleep deprived on those particular mornings.

Harry would often show up to eat lunch with Neville. Nights Harry spent at Malfoy’s were also extreme for Harry. He either couldn’t stop smiling or couldn’t stop brooding. What those two needed, Neville mused secretly, were some of his flowers. Neville smiled at his friend as he made his way over to his very own strain of loti. He’d cross-bred them with a magical flower from the same family, so that they looked evidently similar. The magical loti were white and caused the flowers he’d created to become a mixture of very light blue and grey. Their scent was calming. What made them unique was not their colour—as so many customers believed and bought them for—it was their magical ability.

They were his best sellers. The perfect thing for after a fight, or so Neville hoped. He put together a bouquet as Harry talked, trying to remain nonchalant, even through his mischief. Standing near so many of the flowers probably made it difficult for Harry not to say every thought that went through his mind.

"I really don’t mean to get hurt. My job is a dangerous one, I’m not the only Auror that goes to Mungo’s on a weekly basis. And what _is_ so wrong about me liking my Healer? It’s not like I like him is _because_ he’s my Healer—"

"It’s not?" Neville smiled as Harry gaped at him and then handed him the flowers. "He was looking at these this morning."

After staring down at the flowers for moment, he looked up at Neville and smiled.

"You are the best, mate," Harry said.

Neville waved him off. "Good luck."

#

The flat was quiet as Draco entered. He didn’t notice Harry sitting on the sofa until after he’d hung up his coat. He had a serious look on his face.

Draco’s stomach dropped. Flowers that Draco recognised from Longbottom’s shop were wrapped in paper on his coffee table. Why was Harry here? Draco swallowed and tried to calm his racing heart.

"What’s wrong?"

"We have something to talk about," Harry practically whispered.

"What's going on?" Draco breathed, barely maintaining a steady voice. Draco heard Harry sigh and then inhale in preparation. Draco knew what was coming.

This was when Harry would graciously apologise for his advances, and then slink out his door in guilt. Not enough guilt for him to come back, though. Draco was sure.

Draco flopped down on his settee, not even bothering to shrug off his potion-stained jumper. "Well," Draco huffed, trying to analyse the atmosphere.

"Draco. . ." Harry began, leaning forward to touch his arm. "I think it's about time we talked about what's on both our minds," Harry started, obviously prepared to launch into a monologue.

Draco just sunk farther back into his settee, hoping the cushions would shield him from the moments he knew Harry was about to bring up.

"I like you, and I think that you . . . might like me, too. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I’m tired of only seeing you at night . . . or after I’ve been injured. And Ron and Hermione have been getting at me about that, saying I’m too reckless—"

"They’re right, you are too reckless," Draco shook his head at Harry as his anger took over him. "Just get on with. You’re supposed to be the brave one, remember? So, tell me how you want a real relationship with someone you can bring with you to meet your friends. How I can never be that person. Quit feeling sorry for me, tell me, and go!" Draco stood to leave the room, he couldn’t handle watching Harry leave.

But Harry grabbed him before he made it two steps away. "Leave you? Why would you think I  
wanted to _leave_ you? I was just trying to explain how I’d been—" Harry paused, obviously nervous about his word choices, again. "Possibly, purposefully, getting injured just so that I could spend _more_ time with you, and you think I want to leave you?"

"Possibly, purposefully, getting yourself injured?"

"Could we not focus on that part?" Harry winced. "That will stop, I just need to find better ways to spend time with you."

"Not focus on the part where you're purposefully—"

"Possibly!" Harry grabbed the flowers as if to use them like a shield. "Focus on the part where I want to spend more time with you."

Draco pulled the flowers close to him and fixed their mangled leaves. He took a deep, calming breath. The back of his mind still fought against the idea that Harry was serious about their relationship and not simply grateful to Draco for saving his life. Multiple times at that.

"We'll fight; we have nothing in common."

Harry crossed his arms across his chest. "Do you think that Ron and Hermione have a good relationship?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco stuttered, bemused.

Harry stood firm waiting for Draco to answer the question.

"I don't know them—" Draco cut off at the look on Harry's face that said _oh, please_ . "I suppose so," Draco conceded.

"Couples fight; _all_ couples fight. But they also compromise and love each other . . ." Potter looked away, blushing. He seemed flustered and surprised at himself for bringing love up, but after a moment, his resolve pushed him to continue, "I love you."

"I . . ." Chills ran through Draco. He closed his eyes and calmed his nerves. "I love you, too."

#

Neville’s morning was off to a great start. His shop was cozy and the smell of foliage hung in the air. As he bustled around the greenhouse, watering and pruning, he hummed a tune something like the Weird Sisters, but with his own flair.

Abruptly, he heard the chime that signified a customer, and his humming immediately ceased. His embarrassment flooded his face, and he swiftly ducked behind a conveniently leafy frond.

To his chagrin, he saw it was only Harry. Breathing a sigh of relief, he called out, "Merlin’s pants, Harry, I thought I was goin’ to get the piss taken out of me!"

Harry chuckled and motioned Neville over to the counter where he was leaning. "Neville," Harry began, "I came to thank you…"

"For what?" Neville questioned, intrigued.

"Those flowers," Harry breathed. "They were the biggest help in getting Draco. The loti were the last little push, and now I think we’re just about official." Harry beamed.

Neville’s satisfaction made his cheeks tingle. His flowers were a success, and his friend was happy. "All in a day’s work," he quipped, clapping Harry on the back. "Get on to work, and bring these for him this evening." Neville handed Harry a bouquet of new loti in a subtle peach blush colour.

As Harry strode out of the shop with a, "Thanks again!" Neville thought to himself how much a simple plant could fix things. Thank god he had chosen Herbology and not Defence.

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave your comments here or on [LiveJournal](http://hd-collab.livejournal.com/6122.html). :)


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